


Jouissance

by drinkbloodlikewine



Series: Exclusion Theory [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (FINALLY), Anal Sex, Compulsive Psychoanalysis, First Time, Just Lots of Sex in General, M/M, Making Out, Messy Apartments, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, self-consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scars, shitty sofas, and sex - college life isn’t all bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jouissance

**Author's Note:**

> "The world is not to be divided into sheeps and goats. Not all things are black nor all things white." - Alfred Kinsey

They were scarcely through the door to Will’s fourth floor walk-up when Hannibal had him pinned against the wall. Before the door clicked shut behind them, Hannibal pressed his entire body against him, and Will groaned as a firm hand slid against the front of his pants.

“Shouldn’t I,” he stammered, hips pressing forward involuntarily into Hannibal’s hand. “Show you around or -“ Hannibal pinned his arms back over his head against the wall. “Or get you a beer or -“ He was more uncomfortable than he’d expected to feel in his own apartment, its safety and familiarity rendered questionable by the presence of this new other.

“I don’t want to taste anything but you.” He felt engulfed by the hard gust of Hannibal’s voice, the way his accent nearly became a growl.

Hannibal tugged Will’s sweater off over his head, sending his glasses to the floor, and with remarkable speed unfastened his shirt buttons. Grateful to have his hands back, although his knees were threatening to give way, Will slung his arms around Hannibal’s neck to steady himself. Goosebumps prickled Will’s exposed skin.

He was embarassed to hear his own eager noises penetrating the silence of the small apartment when Hannibal began to lick a slow line along his shoulder, biting and sucking with little sounds that made Will’s stomach tighten. When Hannibal suddenly stopped, though, Will knew why, and humiliation crept in scarlet over his cheeks and throat and chest.

An ugly scar in stark red relief against the pale skin of his left shoulder. It was small enough on the surface that it could go unnoticed, but he felt a residual pain jump spasm through his muscles when Hannibal pressed his lips to it again and spoke knowingly.

“A knife.”

Will tried to reach for his sweater, but couldn’t quite grab it from where Hannibal had him pressed to the wall. Will’s features darkened and he tried to push him away again, and although Hannibal relaxed the arm he’d circled around Will’s waist, he didn’t let him go.

“You tried to shoot him but you couldn’t make yourself do it.” Hannibal spoke in statements and questions all at once, searching Will’s face even as Will avoided his gaze.

Will buried the bitter smile that appeared and Hannibal met his lips, less an immolation and more like embers, glowing warmth. Will slid his hands along Hannibal’s aristocractic features - his sharp cheekbones, his strong jaw - and imagined two mirrors facing each other.

“If you were there again,” Hannibal asked, “would you make the same choice?”

His fingers slid over the scar and Will sucked in a breath, feeling the knife slide through skin, tearing muscle, scraping bone. He felt exposed. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

A note of concern in Hannibal’s voice, or something very like it. “Have you ever spoken about it?”

“When they made me.”

Hannibal touched the scar again, stroking the raised skin as though to soothe it, and Will shifted uncomfortably at the thorny sensation. “It made them doubt you,” he said softly, pushing Will’s curls back out of his face and kissing his his brow, his cheek, his nose - everywhere. Will felt his tension soften and his words hissed like steam as they escaped.

“They only want the parts that work for them, because - because they don’t know how it would have felt. If I’d shot him and he’d died and,” he swallowed, a dry laugh, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all - him, here, like this, telling the same sad story he told himself so often. “I would have felt it. All of it. Maybe forever. And when I tried to tell them that it was better to just let him attack me they just looked at me. That same look they always get when I say something I actually mean and I shouldn’t have.”

He twisted past Hannibal, who finally let him go, and gathered up his shirt and his sweater, clutching them in his arms. Anger tightened his jaw, angry at himself, angry that this was his life, angry that everything always came back to this. “This is what you get,” Will smiled humorlessly, turning back to face him. “Damaged goods.”

“Others certainly try to make you into that, so you’re always searching for the off switch,” replied Hannibal. He wanted to be anywhere but here, anyone but himself, and avoided meeting Hannibal’s eyes.

“Perhaps instead of resisting certain experiences, you could simply accept them in their fundamental nature, free of the expectations of others. You would have felt comfortable in protecting yourself, and gained a new knowledge on your own terms instead of suffering for it.”

“You think I should have shot him.”

“I think you should not let others make you feel as though it is your duty to be a victim, when in reality you may be something else entirely.”

“Look, I didn’t mean for this - for us to,” his words caught in his throat behind a tight smile. “This wasn’t supposed to turn into therapy.”

“I assure you, it hasn’t. I don’t sleep with my patients.”

Will was startled by the sound of his own laugh, all at once more self-conscious than before and distracted from the pain that still sung through the muscles of his shoulder. Hannibal’s smile reached the corners of his eyes and he took Will’s sweater gently from him, tossing it onto the second-hand couch.

The apartment was small - a tiny livingroom leading to an even smaller kitchen, a bedroom off to the side. He’d packed a surprising amount of books into the shelves that lined most walls, and carved out a small space for a desk that was scattered with fishing equipment. Beer cans decorated the kitchen counter and livingroom table, and a few clothes - a hopeless array of flannel shirts and rumpled button-downs and slacks - lay scattered in various piles.

“I didn’t know anyone would be coming over,” Will admitted as Hannibal took in the apartment in one long glance. His mere existence in the room was absurd, like a peacock flashing its plummage in a dive bar, trying to remain regal despite his polite discomfort.

“It seems very cozy,” he managed, removing his coat and draping it carefully over the arm of the couch. Will watched as he unfastened the vest beneath, and then started to work off the buttons of his shirt before Will interrupted him, anxious.

“I haven’t ever done - like this, I mean.”

A brow raised and Hannibal glanced at Will from beneath his still-toussled hair. “You haven’t done anything like what?”

“Like this,” his voice lowered - he felt like he was sixteen again. “I mean, I have, but not with - with another -“

“With another man,” Hannibal finished for him.

The word drew an explosive sigh from Will. “I’m not - I mean, I’ve never thought - because I’m not,” he couldn’t finish the sentence. “But you have? I mean, you are - you’re European.”

Now Hannibal couldn’t resist a breath of laughter, and he slid down onto the couch beside their clothes. A hand rested across his thigh and Will looked away, down at the shirt still in his hands.

“Provenance has less to do with this than one might expect. From your accent, you are from the American South, not exactly known for being open-minded when it comes to established social norms. Yet here we both are.”

He leaned forward and Will let his hips be grabbed, pulled towards Hannibal. Sliding onto his knees and straddling him, he watched Hannibal beneath him as he spoke. “You should worry less about definitions, William.” A shiver shook his limbs as Hannibal slid his hands onto Will’s butt, placing kisses throughout the fine pale hairs on his stomach. He looked upward at Will and in the moment their eyes met Will thought he would be finished. “I try to enjoy beauty in whatever form she presents herself.”

Will watched as Hannibal’s fingers worked his jeans undone and slid them down over his hips. His cock carved a rigid line beneath his white briefs, stomach already aching from the teasing earlier in the night. Hannibal’s mouth pressed against the white cotton, teasing and biting gently through his underwear.

“Tell me what you want,” murmured Hannibal.

A questioning noise escaped Will’s throat and he pressed his hips forward, trying to find contact against Hannibal’s mouth again, but the older man merely smiled.

“I want you to say it.” His breath was pure heat through the thin cotton and Will’s cock twitched in response. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Will shut his eyes and whispered as fast as he could manage, voice cracking a little. “Put it in your mouth.”

As reward, Hannibal hooked his fingers in the elastic of Will’s underwear and tugged them down, letting his length spring free. Will rose up onto his knees and tried to push forward, tried to touch himself, tried to do anything to feel relief, but Hannibal caught his wrist firmly before he could. “Put what in my mouth? Tell me, William,” he smiled upward. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

Will swallowed hard and just as he was certain that he was going to just go dark from the skyrocketing tension of his own nervousness he instead felt himself go clear. Aware. Quiet. It was almost as though he could control his heart rate and slow it down to sleeping if he desired. He tilted his head to the side and looked down at Hannibal, sliding his fingers down his face and grasping his throat, firmly enough to establish himself. It was as though he were transformed, taking Hannibal’s power away from him, and he whispered evenly, “I want you to suck my dick.”

The pleasure he saw in Hannibal’s eyes had little to do with their physical closeness and everything to do with who Will became in that moment. But as soon as Hannibal took his cock into his mouth that person was gone again and Will’s fingers stretched out in pleasure, releasing the grip on his throat. A moan shattered the instant of stark quiet as he swallowed Will whole and Will pushed his hips eagerly forward to seek out the wet warmth that surrounded him.

Hannibal had definitely done this before. His tongue rolled in smooth waves against the underside of Will’s cock and Will pushed his blonde hair back out of his face to watch breathless. He memorized the way Hannibal’s regal lips wrapped around him and the way Hannibal grunted softly when Will pushed harder into his mouth and the way his throat convulsed when Will buried himself as deep as he could, again and again.

And when Hannibal slid his mouth away in one long, hard suck, tonguing the damp slit at the tip, Will’s eyes finally fluttered closed with a deep groan.

“Keep going,” he begged, planting his hands on either side of Hannibal’s head and grasping the couch cushions tightly. “Please.”

Instead, Hannibal grabbed him with one arm around the waist and laid him on his back, moving over him. Will tasted his own saltiness and sweat on Hannibal’s mouth, stomach coiling pleasurably as he realized with a whole new sense that his hardness had just been thrusting past Hannibal’s lips.

Will tried to unbutton Hannibal’s shirt and had finally just pulled roughly at it to pry it loose from him, throwing it aside. Hannibal glanced at the rumpled shirt and a flicker of disapproval turned down his lips but Will hid his amusement and pretended not to notice. The tangles of hair on Hannibal’s chest tickled his skin and he reached down to unbutton Hannibal’s pants in return - this was enough to draw Hannibal’s interest back to Will, squirming excitedly beneath him. His hand grazed Will’s sensitive arousal, still damp from his mouth, and he grabbed it roughly enough that Will yelped a little.

He’d all but stopped breathing and just watched, lips parted feverishly as Hannibal’s hand slid the length of his rosy cock, flush and full. He twisted his wrist as he rose up over the pert pink head and then squeezed hard as he slid his hand back down. Will felt waves of pleasure lapping at his shores with increasing intensity as he thrust into Hannibal’s fist.

The base of his spine twitched all the way up the back of his neck and tingled up into his scalp beneath his sweaty black curls of hair and his shoulders hunched as Hannibal pumped him harder, faster, until he thought he was going to never breathe again, and Will tried to gasp out a warning but came explosively, fingers scrabbling hold of Hannibal’s shoulders as he poured himself out. A few hot jets of white striped along his belly and spattered over Hannibal’s hand, onto his pants. A shudder of depraved delight riveted through him as he watched the thick liquid drip down the fine grey plaid.

“You’re ruining my suit,” Hannibal noted, as he leaned back on his knees, still between Will’s legs. He reached down to retrieve the pocket square from where his coat had fallen and primly wiped his hand clean, before daubing at the dampness soaking into his pants.

Will pushed his hair back out of his face and grinned. He felt a rush of delight over the absurd peacock that he had found, deeply curious about the man over him, half-naked and strong and challenging and mysterious and of all things, frowning in dismay over his expensive suit. Will tugged the kerchief from his hands and caught his fingers in the waistband of Hannibal’s trousers, pushing them down his hips, along with the expensive black shorts underneath. He wrapped his hand around Hannibal’s length, stubbornly hard, and rubbed his palm along it in short strokes.

“Now you tell me what you want me to do,” Will said, watching Hannibal’s expression turn to one of mild surprise. “I want to hear you to say it.”

A smile appeared and vanished like the shadow of a bird flying overhead. “Squeeze more firmly,” Hannibal said evenly. This was evidently easier than it had been for Will, who tightened his grasp. “Good.” He let his head roll in a controlled tilt to the side and watched Will’s face as Will jerked him off with awkward eagerness.

“Now make it wet,” he continued. Will leaned in and licked along the length of Hannibal’s cock, surprised by the musky salty sweaty taste. Hannibal clucked his tongue in gentle disapproval.

“In your mouth,” he instructed, and Will let his lips part. The taste of Hannibal heavy against his tongue was heady and he gagged a little before closing his eyes, cheeks hollowing as he sucked softly, at first, and then harder as a single note of pleasure plucked through Hannibal’s muscles and drew a grunt of approval. His foreskin slid smoothly back and forth, and Will made a surprised noise as he tasted a drop of precome, warm and strange. He started to feel soreness in his jaw from the size of him, from sucking so hard, when Hannibal slid a hand back through Will’s hair and wrapped his fist firmly in it, pulling his mouth away.

A trail of saliva draped from the end of Hannibal’s cock to Will’s lips and in that moment he was the image of perfect debauchery - heavy-lidded verdant eyes and messy hair and flushed lips and pale skin still boyishly smooth. Breathless, Will nodded agreement to a question that Hannibal didn’t need to ask.

Hannibal loosened his grip in Will’s hair and affectionately stroked his cheek, his neck, his chest, his belly as he kissed him. He pushed off Will’s jeans and leaned low over him, coaxing his legs apart and gently sliding a damp finger inside. Will flinched and Hannibal watched with pleasure.

Voice weak, Will asked again. “Tell me what you want.”

“Breathe,” insisted Hannibal and Will complied, forcing a shaky breath through his nose. The smell of expensive cigarettes and sweat and semen flooded his senses and he let his eyes close. He felt Hannibal add a second finger, pushing with slow thrusts. “I want to be inside you,” murmured Hannibal indulgently against Will’s ear. “I want to know every part of you.” Will made himself relax his body to allow the steady, persistent movement. “I want you to know every part of yourself.”

When Hannibal finally braced himself against Will, he was nearly exhausted from the extended effort of being readied for so long, but it wasn’t enough to prepare him for the guilty pleasure and sharp pain that exploded in the base of his spine when Hannibal finally entered him. To his credit, he waited with remarkable patience for Will to settle and relax, breath ragged, before he started to move inside of him.

Will was surprised by the sound that broke from his own throat - a high keening moan that he didn’t know existed inside of him. With each stroke Hannibal engulfed him from the inside out like a housefire, and he felt like he might break into pieces as he felt Hannibal’s length move inside of him. As he worked his way deeper, every movement remained perfectly controlled, and as his cock started to stiffen again, Will reached between their bellies to stroke it.

Hannibal cupped Will’s jaw with one hand, kissing the sweat from Will’s brow before sliding a hand down to grab his ass and pull them tighter together. He stroked himself in time to Hannibal’s thrusts, back arching in response, and he imagined how he must look right now, furiously pumping his own half-hard cock, fucked in quickening thrusts by the man above him. Hannibal ran his tongue over his teeth and choked off a pleasurable sound as his eyes met Will’s, pursuing his body with each push of his hips. Will knew he couldn’t come again but touching himself felt good anyway, almost frenzied by the fullness that made his breath stop short each time Hannibal pushed inside of him and the way that Hannibal looked so pleased to see Will writhing beneath him.

“Tell me,” Hannibal grunted roughly. Firm fingers slid around Will’s neck and held him down, shortening his already rapid breath, and panic fluttered through his veins. But as he watched Hannibal, taking in his sharpened gaze, a sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, his hair in disarray, he forced his heartrate to slow. Hannibal’s fingers twitched out of his control, the rhythm of thrusts becoming erratic, and as calmly as though he were tying a lure, Will ran his fingers over Hannibal’s parted lips. He thought he would feel ashamed, but he didn’t. He felt powerful.

His voice never raised above a whisper. "Finish in me.”

A single cry tore itself from Hannibal’s throat and his fingers clenched around Will’s neck as he came with the entirety of himself. He pushed deep, hips snapping like cracks of thunder as he planted himself again and again, gradually slowing, until the movement faded with a lingering rumble. His hand loosened immediately.

“That was,” Hannibal began unsteadily, and Will was surprised that for the first time, he didn’t know exactly what to say. “I shouldn’t have -“

Will’s fingers were still pressed against his mouth, feeling his apology take shape, and he let his fingers slide past Hannibal’s lips in response. His eyes fell closed as he tasted them, echoes of the storm still felt in flickers of movement between their bodies. Slowly, Hannibal drew himself out of Will and lay down beside him, draping an arm across his chest. The cheap couch dug springs into Will’s side as he lay with his back against Hannibal’s chest. In the morning, when the sweat had dried and the apartment smelled like sex and cigarettes and they were both so sore they could hardly move he would wish he had dragged them both to his bed instead, but in that moment, they were perfectly reflected, and he couldn’t imagine moving apart.


End file.
